She Prefers A Good Book Over Flowers
by avearia
Summary: Set after 'a cold day at X'. Ingrid gets a cold and has to stay home. She hates being sick, but is cheered up when she gets a few getwell flowers from an 'unknown' benefactor. It may have been unlabeled, but Ingrid has a hunch who the culprit might be…


**Hello. Yeah, I know I'm insane for submitting a new story... I mean, I'm having a terrible time with 'Between Two Things' here, and this just popped in my head. I didn't really put a lot of thought into it, and it's just supposed to be a cute litte thing. Just a oneshot. But I'd appreciate Reviews! (I _always _appreciate reviews.) anyways... **

Summary:

(Takes place immediately 'a cold day at X') Ingrid catches a cold and has to stay home. She hates being sick, but is cheered up when she gets a bouquet of get-well flowers from an 'unknown' benefactor. The present may have been unlabeled, but Ingrid has a hunch who the culprit might be…

_Note: The sky is falling, The Chicken came before the egg, and I don't own Fillmore. Capeish? _

* * *

A Good Book Over Flowers 

Ingrid hung up the phone and immediately sneezed. _'Ugh.' _She thought to herself. _'I really HATE getting sick. I'm going to miss school again tomorrow! The only thing worse than missing school because your parents—or you yourself—are sick is when it's a snow day anyways.' _She mused to herself.

Slowly she made her way back to the kitchen. _'Fillmore'll just have to do without me again tomorrow. I hope he can handle it.'_ She thought with a grin. After all, when he wasn't being stubborn, Fillmore could easily take care of himself. She could too, as she was about to demonstrate. Ingrid knew the best way from preventing a totally awful cold was to get a Tylenol before she went to bed and drink lots of orange juice.

She hated orange juice. Maybe that was why she hated getting sick so much.

She poured some of the gross orange liquid into a glass and grabbed a Tylenol, swallowing both with a grimace. She then checked on her parents; they'd been sick earlier that day. "So how are you feeling?" the green eyed girl asked her father first. He seemed to be the most recovered.

"Wonderful, pumpkin. I could use something solid to eat, but I'm fine." He assured her. "I'll watch over your mother. Why don't you go do your homework?" he asked, pulling out his own briefcase. "Heaven knows that I'm behind on my OWN homework. The department's probably falling apart without my superior knowledge to guide them." He joked.

"You don' 'iv 'em enouugh credidit, 'oney." Ingrid's mom said from behind her father. She still had a stuffy nose, and it made her hard to understand. "won' oo be emmbarrasded 'en oo get bahck an they got da entire progect done?"

"Ah, so you think that my genius has finally rubbed off on them?" he inquired with a false, lofty voice. He grinned mischievously. "Then perhaps I'll have to get another job as a teacher."

Ingrid's mom could only roll her eyes.

He would have gone on, (encouraged by his wife's response,) But Ingrid sniffed and shrugged. "Well, if you're fine with it, I suppose I'd better get to work on my homework, then."

Her dad looked at her. "Are you getting a cold?" he asked, noting that she had sniffed earlier.

"No," she lied, trying to be optimistic. "It's just really cold out, that's all. You know that. I'm sure it's nothing." She assured him with a shrug. When her dad's eyebrow kicked up in disbelief, she smirked. "You wouldn't make a good teacher, if you can't tell when a child is lying or not. At least, not a teacher at MY school."

Her father sighed. "Well, if you are sick tomorrow, you're staying home from school. Though I suppose it could be nothing." He shrugged. "Go on."

Ingrid left the room, thoughtful. If her dad couldn't tell if she was sick or not, then maybe her cold wasn't going to be too bad… right?

* * *

Wrong…

Ingrid sat up in bed, realizing her alarm was going off. It must've been going off for some time, but she hadn't woken up to it. Blindly, her hands searched for the snooze button. When she couldn't find it, she tried to open her eyes… but they were crusty and had too much sand in them. "Nngggh." Ingrid moaned, rubbing the sand out of her eyes. She could finally open them far enough to see, but she didn't really want to wake up. Wearily, she stopped the beeping clock's alarm.

It took her at least five minutes to convince herself to get out of bed. _'That's two more than usual,'_ she thought wryly. Ingrid wasn't really a morning person, but she was sensible enough to wake herself. Today she just wanted to sleep. She also knew that later, once she'd woken up, she'd want to go to school. It was either get up now or regret it later. Sighing, she pushed herself out of the bed and over to her closet.

Picking out her normal black dress and black shoes, she went over to see her reflection. It was worse than she'd thought. To her, it looked like Ingrid Third had been run over by a semi carrying an elephant. Now she was glad she could hardly see; she must've looked like a total wreck.

Ingrid shook the sand out of her eyes and combed her hair, getting dressed even though her dad would probably refuse to let her go to school today. She winced when the comb caught on a knot in her hair. Working carefully to remove it, she let her thoughts roam around in her head. _'well, Dad can't stay away from work any longer or they'll fire him. Even if he was sick. And Mom, if she isn't sick too, has to go to work as well. There's no harm in going to school if I don't get anyone else sic-…' _she sneezed in mid-thought. _'sick. Most people don't let their kids stay home just because of a cold. I mean, O'Farrell's parents are doctors, and he comes to school sick every now and again. There's no reason—" _she sneezed again. _'No reason for me to stay home. I've probably got a ton of work to do at the HQ, not to mention…' _she sneezed four times in a row, and gave up on thinking. It was just too much work to think clearly in the morning. If she kept sneezing, her dad'd notice, and at this rate she was bound to miss school.

"Ingrid, was that you sneezing?" the girl heard her father call from the hallway, as if he was reading her mind.

"No." Ingrid answered, thankful her nose wasn't stuffy. When she got colds, her nose ran like crazy, but it never stuffed up, meaning she could talk clearly. "I'll be down in a minute!"

She heard her father hesitate. "Well, you'd better hurry up, I guess. You're going to miss school, at this rate."

'_Irony…'_ the girl thought darkly.

* * *

Ingrid sat on the couch, pouting. A blanket covered her body from her chin to her bare toes, and beside her some soup steamed in a mug. It was family tradition to put soup in mugs, especially when the soup was for someone who's sick.

Unfortunately, her parents knew a sick person when they saw one. Ingrid had walked down the stairs and upon seeing her dad had immediately banned her from going to school. They'd had the classic "I-should-go-to-school-when-I'm-only-sorta-sick" argument, and it had ended with the classic result of Ingrid staying home from school. Again.

She sniffed and turned to the side. At least her parents had gone to work. Ingrid had convinced him that if he stayed home from work to look after her, (when she was perfectly capable of doing so herself,) then he'd be in BIG trouble. And her mom was never very good at taking care of people; she always tripped over her feet or forgot ingredients in the soup when she didn't have anyone to help her, so Ingrid had the entire day by herself.

It was just as well. Sometimes, her father's 'care' made her more annoyed than it was worth. She knew it was the thought that counted, but she also appreciated a little silence. Now all she had to worry about was how to entertain herself until she got well.

One thing about living in the house of a genius mathematician and a brain surgeon was that, when they weren't home, things tended to get really, really boring. She thought about what she could do to entertain herself as she sipped the ramen that was in the mug beside her. When she finished with the meal, she shook the blanket off of her body and stood. Ingrid wandered to her room, looking for something to do. Really what she SHOULD have been doing was sleeping, but there was plenty of time for that later.

Ingrid scanned the shelves, frowning to herself. "I've read all of these books already, some of them twice." She said aloud, to no one in particular. "And all of dad's books. I guess I need to go shopping or something."

Sniffing, she looked around. She'd finished most of her homework the day before, and so that wasn't an option. The TV was probably running old cartoons or soap operas, and that didn't quite suit her fancy either. What could she do to pass the time?

Ingrid smiled as a thought came to her. She picked up a pencil and pad, going back to the couch with her prize. On the pad, she began to scribble.

_Things I hate about Being Sick_

She titled the paper.

_-the runny noses  
__-the fact that there are no good books to read anymore  
__-feeling terrible  
__-the reruns and soap operas on TV  
__-the BOREDOM  
__-missing school  
__-Not getting to see my friends  
__-the way that the fridge and the furnace turn on when you least expect it and  
__scare the heck out of anyone who's home alone  
__-usually mom and dad pestering me  
__-that blue jay that keeps hitting the window because it thinks that its reflection  
__is another bird… _

Ingrid looked at the list. Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of things she hated about being sick. There was probably nothing at all that would make getting sick better. Most kids wanted to be sick because they 'got' to miss school, but Ingrid, (as strange as it seemed,) actually thought school was mildly interesting. Other than that, there was nothing that came to mind as a good thing about being sick.

She put the paper to the side, setting herself comfortable to get to sleep. She was about to drift off when she heard the doorbell ring. Glancing at the clock quickly, she noted that it was around 1 o'clock. Slowly she pushed the blankets off of her and went to answer the door.

Once Ingrid opened the door, she found a young man in a white and blue uniform carrying an oddly shaped package standing on her doorstep. She frowned, thinking this must be a package delivery. "My parents aren't home. They can't sign for a package." She told the man, and he looked dismayed for a moment.

"No? ah… I don't suppose you're…" he checked the tag. "Ingrid Third? Because if you are, you can sign for the package." He said. "I think. I dunno, really, I'm sorta new on the job. We're not usually open in the winter, this is the first year we're making deliveries and all…" he explained, words just rolling off his tongue without any second thought.

"'we'?" Ingrid asked, looking for a logo on his uniform. Her sharp green eyes found one situated on the man's right arm; 'Flora's Flowers'. "Yeah, I'm Ingrid Third. You sure I can sign for this?" she asked curiously.

The man hesitated for a moment. "Well, I don't see why not, there," the man said. "See, this man came in and asked if we made deliveries, and the boss thought it was a great idea, and then this week a kid came in and wanted these delivered. I've sorta only delivered two before this. So…" he frowned, uncovering the package.

He was carrying, much to Ingrid's surprise, a bouquet of white roses. Her face must've shown open shock, because the man smiled. "What, does your boyfriend not get you flowers very often?" he asked.

"I don't have a boyfriend." Ingrid answered, taking the flowers from him. _'They're very nice and all, but a good book would be more entertaining.' _She thought to herself. _'still, I've never gotten flowers before…'_ "Where do I sign?" she asked.

The man handed her the clipboard and pointed it out to her. "No boyfriend? I thought for sure a pretty young girl like you would have one by now." He nodded and took the clipboard from her. "I just assumed the boy who wanted these delivered was your man. I suppose he's just a friend, then?"

"That depends," Ingrid shrugged. "Who sent it?"

"Oh, how rude of me, I almost forgot!" the young man said, pulling out a slip of paper. "He didn't leave his name, but he did leave a message. Here." He said, handing it to her. Ingrid took it, reading it with a smile.

_To the girl who'd probably prefer_  
_A good book over flowers  
__But has read so many books  
__that it would take super powers  
__to find a book that she's not read yet,  
__So this choice is probably the safer bet.  
-__get well soon_

"Cute." She smiled. "Very cute."

"I'm glad you approve." The man said. "I'll tell him that if he comes back in. Oh," he stopped.

"Yes?" Ingrid asked.

The man opened another sack he'd been carrying. "And he asked to give you this, too." He dug it out gently, handing it to her.

It appeared to be a black rose, its petals jet black and springy, and its stem the perfect green color. She reached out to grab it, ready to sniff its scent, but then realized (once she touched it,) that it was not a real flower at all but a cloth one.

"Amazing, huh? I think he made it himself. My friend, who'd been on duty, said he had a band-aid around one finger, so I think he must've sewn it together himself. And I'm impressed," he smiled. "It takes quite an artist to make such a lifelike cloth flower."

"It's wonderful." She said, sniffing from her cold.

"But why's it black?" he asked.

"Because black is one of my favorite colors." Ingrid replied, stroking the false petals.

The man nodded. "Well, thank you for your time. We hope you'll keep us in mind next time you want to deliver some flowers! or... something..." he smiled and left.

Ingrid closed the door behind him, still admiring the cloth rose. She sat at the couch once more, setting the bouquet of white flowers on the table beside her. Carefully, she situated the black rose to peek out from the middle of the bouquet. She smiled, laying down to rest. _'Ok, there's one thing that's good about being sick.'_ Mused the girl, sighing. _'Though I wonder, who would send me such a thing?'_ And with that, she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

When she awoke the next day, she felt extremely better, and extremely hungry. Her parents, seeing her improvement, decided she was well again and drove her to school after a large breakfast. They still forced her to drink orange juice, but it was worth it, Ingrid decided, if she was to escape being bored at home for another day.

When she arrived at the HQ, she was greeted warmly by her friends. Her friend Fillmore grinned at her when she sat at her desk after being greeted by Vallejo, Karen, Joseph, Danny, and others she knew that worked there. "Fancy that. You made it all the way back here in one piece."

"That's the price of having a desk at the back of the room." Ingrid sighed. "Though why they're so enthusiastic in greeting me is hard to understand…"

"They're just preparing you for all the work you need to do," her friend grinned again, pointing to her desk; it had papers on it a mile high. "I hear Karen even tried to do a few for you, when she heard you were sick. She got through half the pile." He waved his hand at her.

Ingrid frowned noticing a band-aid on his left hand. "Hurt yourself?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh." He said, blushing. "yea. I guess. I was being a klutz."

He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to. Ingrid knew very well how he'd drawn blood; the answer was sitting in her room. That black rose was the cause. The girl sat down quietly, thinking. Suddenly she leaned over and looked at her African American friend. "Enslaved by ducks." She told him with a smirk.

Fillmore looked up, confusion clearly written on his face. "What?"

"Well, if you're so confused to which books I have or haven't read, I might as well tell you which ones I'm planning to get. The Christmas holidays are coming up soon, after all." Ingrid explained. "I heard that 'Enslaved by Ducks' is good. So's 'the Blue Crown'." She giggled.

"I'm afraid I don't understand…" he said, although his expression said otherwise.

Ingrid dug a note out from her pocket. "'To the girl who'd probably prefer a good book over flowers'…" she began reading.

Fillmore blushed . "You… but… how…?" he asked.

"Though really, You must've been sewing a long time to get a cloth rose so perfect. Did you really make it yourself?" she asked, poking fun at him.

"Yeah, but…" Fillmore stopped. "No! Well, uh… um… it's just…" he blushed even more.

Ingrid smiled, her green eyes glinting with interest. "Thanks for that, Fillmore. It really brightened my day. I was having the worst day ever." She said. "Then, out of nowhere, there's this guy on my porch handing me white roses. And a black cloth one. Yeah, it was probably the highlight of my day."

Fillmore's blush began to ebb away. "Yeah, well, I figured you weren't having such a fun day. You get bored easily enough WITHOUT having nothing to do." He shrugged.

Ingrid nodded. "Yeah, I hate being sick." She muttered. "But what about you? What do YOU do when you're sick?" she inquired.

Fillmore looked at her, smirking. "Me? What are you talking about?" he asked playfully. "I'm as healthy as a horse. I've never been sick a day in my entire… my entire…" his nose twitched and he sneezed twice.

"Oh no…" Ingrid sighed, rubbing her temples. "Don't tell me you're sick now too?" she moaned.

Fillmore sniffed. "Tis the season, I guess…" he grumbled slightly. "It probably won't be too bad until later in the day. I'll just let Vallejo know I need a day off or something. Though I'm gonna need a miracle to convince mom I'm sick." He muttered to himself.

Ingrid offered him a tissue. He took it with thanks, not noticing the mischievous grin his partner had on her face.

"So, Fillmore," Ingrid started.

Cornelius looked up, listening intently.

"Do you prefer a good book over flowers?"


End file.
